A rickety wooden wagon slowly traveled down the long dirt road. The sun shone brightly, even though a light layer of snow covered the ground. Dark brown horses guided the wagon, which followed several more wagons. Soldiers clad in silver and red armor scowled as they drove on.
The passengers didn't seem very happy, either. None of them had armor. They obviously were prisoners.
"Where are you from, horse thief?" a man on the left side of the wagon said, looking at a slightly thinner Breton across from him.
"What does it matter?" he answered in a sad voice. "We're all going to die anyways."
Another passenger gulped. What was happening? He at least knew that these were stormcloaks, soldiers of the murder and jarl, Ulfric. He had been captured while crossing the border from Cyrodiil to Skyrim. They were Imperial soliders... and if he didn't know any better, he would say that Ulfric himself was sitting right next to him.
"Riverwood", the breton answered. "I'm from Riverwood."
The man across from him nodded. Right away the other prisoner (who was an argonian) knew he was a nord from his thick accent. They continued down the road.
Soon, they all had fear in their hearts. A small village came into sight, accompanied by pillars covered with Imperial flags. They knew their end was near. But the argonian was hopeful. He had to escape!
To be continued...